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by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Community: seasonofkink, Knifeplay, M/M, Painplay, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: For a blissful time, Loki’s mind stills. Only the Grandmaster exists now, and the perfect pain he gives.





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Season of Kink bingo card: sado-masochism.
> 
> Enjoy!

Fragments of light. A bridge to the stars. The chase, the blade, then falling, falling _again_. Darkness, vastness. The bottom of Thor’s boots, fading, reaching--

Pain; sudden, hot. A line carved down the center of Loki’s chest.

Loki twitches on the tabletop. Metal restraints bind his wrists and ankles. Wards must be a feature of their design, Loki is not healing as he should. His skin remains open; generous swells of blood cascade down his body like a network of rivers. Loki’s stomach flips, and his throat tightens. It feels like falling. Like staring at Thor’s shrinking shadow. Like--

Pain splits Loki’s arms, and he groans in surprise. Blood wells in Loki’s elbows and dribbles down his forearms.

“You with me, sweetheart?” The Grandmaster lets out a luxurious sigh. “It’s just, you know, so much more _fun_ when you pay attention. Don’t you think, Lo?”

Loki mumbles assent. His chest feels weighted, and he struggles to breathe. The Grandmaster's aides stand on either side of Loki. They are pretty things with almond skin and buns high above their heads. Each holds a dagger in their manicured hands.

Hands. Mjolnir, crushed in a hand. Hands on Loki’s throat. Hands ripping his shoulders from their sockets. Hands smoothing knotted black hair from his face. “You will deliver the tesseract to me, Asgardian.”

Loki mumbled assent then too. It pleased him, pathetically, that the Titan called him by the race he believed himself to be his whole life. There was power in the lie, and Loki’s frayed mind clung to it. Maybe it was all a dream - Loki’s skin made of ice. Maybe it was all-

“Mm-mm, Loki.” The Grandmaster taps a painted fingernail against his chin. “What am I going to do with you?” He hovers above Loki like a mad witch perfecting a poison. “Let’s try again, what do you say?”

The blades obey, slicing Loki’s ribs and sides. Loki moans weakly. The pain is like flame, burning his every thought to ash. Illness and pleasure twist in his belly. The Grandmaster observes him, half-hooded eyes edged in blue.

The daggers open Loki’s thighs and split his knees in half. They line Loki’s calves and draw designs into his feet. His cock stands erect, blushed and thick over black curls. Loki’s skin blisters with goosebumps.

He does not want to think of Hela, Odin, or the death of Asgard. He does not want to think of falling. He certainly does not want to think of Thor. Loki wants pain, nothing else.

“More,” he croaks.

New light twinkles in the Grandmaster’s eyes. “Don't forget the magic word, sweetheart ”

“ _Please_.” Loki’s voice is a gasp.

The Grandmaster’s smile grows. “Ladies,” he purrs, “let’s, ah, let's pick up the pace. There you go, that's it.” He looks awfully pleased.

Tears burn in Loki’s eyes, but the blood on his body dries wonderfully cool. He is a map etched in red ink on white canvas.

For a blissful time, Loki’s mind stills. Only the Grandmaster exists now, and the perfect pain he gives.

*The End*


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